


Aftermath

by serapheim



Series: Aftermath [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Athos is so done with Aramis, Dubious Consent, Episode: s01e10 Musketeers Don't Die Easily, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Heartbreak, M/M, Musketeers Don't Die Easily, Pain, Sex, Sexual Content, Violence, spoilers for season finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 21:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1402825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serapheim/pseuds/serapheim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Throughout the evening Aramis was painfully aware of Athos’ presence. He could feel his stare on his skin, even when he couldn’t see his friend. The weight of that gaze sent goosebumps along his spine. He wanted to leave this tavern and this stupid game of cards, but he was afraid. Maybe for the first time in his life, he was truly afraid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers to the season finale.

They rode at a leisure pace, everyone lost in their thoughts. By a silent agreement they ended up in a tavern instead of the garrison, drinking and trying to take their minds of everything.

D’Artagnan’s thoughts were preoccupied only with Constance. He barely touched his wine, feeling sad and not inclined to talk, very much unlike his usual joyful self. Porthos was trying to cheer himself up with a game of cards with Aramis, who seemed even more distracted as usual, and had they not agreed not to bet on money, he would have been left even more poor than before they had started. 

Athos was silent, which was not particularly surprising. But the way he sometimes glanced at Aramis, when the other laughed or joked, made Porthos wonder. Aramis seemed to feel their elder friend’s gaze upon him, because every time it happened, he flinched almost imperceptibly, his voice a touch too strained. Ever since they had left the palace, Porthos kept thinking of what had happened there to cause such a strange tension between his friends. D’Artagnan was oblivious to it all, which was understandable since he knew his friends less years than Porthos.

Asking was useless, so Porthos decided to keep an eye on both of them, until they resolved whatever there was between them.

Throughout the evening Aramis was painfully aware of Athos’ presence. He could feel his stare on his skin, even when he couldn’t see his friend. The weight of that gaze sent goosebumps along his spine. He wanted to leave this tavern and this stupid game of cards, but he was afraid. Maybe for the first time in his life, he was truly afraid.

Afraid that what Athos might have to say on the matter would echo the thoughts hidden deep in his heart.

D’Artagnan left sometime later, mumbling something about going for a walk. It was obvious that their young friend wished to nurse his broken heart alone. 

“Poor, lad,” muttered Porthos, as he eyed D’Artagnan walking towards the door, his eyes downcast. “Don’t know what’s going on with that ladylove of his. She clearly cares for him. Why can’t they be together?”

“Not all love stories have happy endings, Porthos,” said Aramis with a humourless smile. He took a sip of wine, acutely aware of Athos’ stare.

Porthos glanced quickly in Athos’ direction, his thoughts obviously going towards Milady. 

“Suppose so,” he muttered. Then he dealt another round, and Aramis was once again distracted, so that he didn’t notice his companion slide an ace into his sleeve.

The game was slow, and soon Aramis was tired of it. As the clock struck nine, he sighed and took his hat. 

“I believe, this is my cue to leave, gentlemen,” he said, rising. “It has been a long day. Good night.”

He left without looking back.

He walked through the streets, feeling glad that they had left their horses in the stables before going drinking. His muscles ached as if he had spent days sitting and drinking instead of just a couple of hours. He needed to stretch his legs, so he walked aimlessly through the streets.

Very quickly he became aware of the footsteps behind him, which he quickly recognized as those belonging to Athos. His heart sped up. He wondered if Athos would say something or at least walk beside him, but instead he followed Aramis several paces behind.

Athos’ gaze felt as if it was burning a hole in Aramis’ jacket.

Aramis knew that Athos wanted to talk to him, but it needed to be done somewhere private. Resolutely, he turned in the direction of his rooms.

He walked through the streets and then up the wooden stairs, painfully aware of his friend’s presence. He both welcomed and dreaded what Athos would say when they were finally alone.

He entered his room, took of his hat, cloak and weapons. He had left the door open, and it closed with a soft click behind Athos.

“Some wine?” asked Aramis, grabbing a half finished bottle off the writing table. He stood facing the window, half turned away from Athos, so he was not prepared for the assault that followed his question.

In several quick steps Athos was across the room, grabbing his shoulder, spinning him around, only to land a heavy blow on Aramis’ jaw. The bottle slipped through Aramis’ fingers, as he staggered backwards, grabbing the chair to hold himself upright and almost overturning the table. Wine spilled onto the floor, as the bottle rolled away.

“Athos…” But whatever Aramis wanted to say was lost, as Athos hit him again the moment he rightened up. The second blow to the face was followed by one into his abdomen. Staggering, Aramis grabbed at the bedpost, as the pain made him double over. 

“You are a dog, Aramis,” hissed furious Athos. “A dog, and you would be hanged for what you did. You couldn’t keep hands to yourself, and now everyone is in mortal danger because of you!” He punched him again.

“Look, Athos, don’t be so melodramatic,” said Aramis, trying to catch his breath. The blows hurt, but it was nothing compared to the pain in his heart. He knew that it was his fault, but it hurt even more hearing it from his close friend.

“Melodramatic?!” Athos almost yelled. Only the fear to be overheard prevented him from bellowing in full voice. He grabbed Aramis by the lapels and shook him. Then he pushed him away and slapped across the face.

His eyes were dark pools of liquid fire. With his dark hair in disarray and a sword on his hip, he looked as an avenging angel that had descended from Heaven to slain the unfaithful. And it would be his right, though Aramis, tasking blood in his mouth.

“You slept with the Queen. She is with a child. And you keep looking at her in the way which is not appropriate for a musketeer. Don’t think for a second that there won’t be someone who would be able to come to certain conclusions,” Athos bit out every word with venom. “ And if that someone is Cardinal, then you are doomed. We all are. You would be hanged and we would spend the rest of our days in Bastille, if the King is merciful.”

“If it comes to this, I will take all the blame,” gasped out Aramis. He didn’t have the heart to tell Athos that Cardinal had seen him with the Queen in the palace that day. Consumed wine and the beating made it difficult to stand, so he sat at the edge of the bed. “You are not to blame. It was all me.”

“But I was there,” hissed Athos. “I’ve let it happen. And Porthos. What do you think he would try to do if both of us are imprisoned?”

Aramis groaned and hid his face in the hands. He could very well imagine what. Porthos would be furious, naturally, but his loyalty would stay unwavering.

“He would try to free us,” moaned Aramis. “Oh, Lord in Heaven, you are right, Athos. You are right! He would try to do something foolish and he would perish like us.”

His mind supplied him with quite vivid images of Porthos seeking vengeance and meeting his death instead. The thought of dying was frightening enough, as Aramis was quite fond of life, but the idea that his actions might cause the death of his best friends made the musketeer tremble with true terror.

“And God only knows what the King might do to the Queen,” added Athos. “What Cardinal might do”.

The most of the anger seemed to have left him. He regarded his younger friend with a mix of anger and exasperation in his eyes. He was still incredibly furious with Aramis, but couldn’t help pitying him at the same time.

“It is all my fault, Athos,” whispered Aramis, his voice hoarse, choking on words. “That poor nun, her death is my fault. And now everyone is in danger because I fell prey to the Queen’s charms. What a fool, I am! But she made me feel so worthy. She made me feel like a king.” 

Athos moved closer to him and grabbed a fistful of his hair. Pulling his head back, he forced Aramis to look into his eyes.

“Forget about her. Forget about what happened. No more tete-a-tete meetings with the Queen. No more presents. No more glances. Understand?” He punctuated every sentence with a painful tag.

“I understand,” winced Aramis, but he didn’t struggle against the hold. 

Neither did he struggle when Athos leaned and pressed his mouth to Aramis’ lips in a bruising kiss. It hurt, as Aramis’ lip was split. It started bleeding again, and the stale taste of wine on Athos’ tongue mixed with the salty tang. 

Athos leaned back and scrutinized Aramis, his face as unreadable as ever. Then he kissed him again, with no less force as before. Aramis tried to recuperate, he felt weak and defeated. He let Athos overtake his mouth, feast on his lips till they felt raw and burning, as if after oriental spices.

Using his strength and also Aramis’ sudden meekness, Athos forced him to turn. He pressed on his shoulders, until Aramis kneeled, and pushed him forward onto his stomach. The younger man fell on the bed, willingly submitting to his fate. His breeches were pulled down roughly, his shirt moved up, as his back and backside were exposed in the most vulnerable way.

“I wish I had a riding crop or a whip, so that I could flog you,” hissed Athos in his ear. He was breathing heavily, and by cluttering of his weapons, Aramis could guess that he was hastily undressing himself. 

Somehow Aramis was not afraid of what was most certainly going to come next. He was not even afraid of the threats that Athos tried to frighten him with. For all Athos’ moodiness and bouts of surprising aggression, he would never truly hurt one of his friends. This certainty burned deep in Aramis heart, as he pressed his face into the mattress and waited for the inevitable. 

The pain of the body was a nice distraction from the pain of the heart. He welcomed it.

The first thrust of the fingers was painful, but less brutal than expected. The fingers were slick with oil, and Aramis wanted to scream in the mattress because he wanted it to hurt more. 

Athos knew what he was doing. He kept his movements on the verge between pain and pleasure, making Aramis arch on the bed in frustration. But before he could voice his displeasure, the fingers were replaced by something thicker and much more hot.

Athos thrust inside, and Aramis couldn’t help moaning. It was a good thing that his face pressed into the bedcovers, otherwise someone might have heard him. The same thought must have encountered to the other, because Aramis was shoved even more into the bed, the face pressed so hard into the fabric, that it was getting hard to breathe.

Choking, Aramis kept his fingers knotted in the covers. He didn’t try to do anything, not even move, as he was being taken by Athos. His own cock had come into life almost immediately and now was rubbing painfully at the edge of the bed. 

Every thrust seemed to spread a liquid fire through his veins. It was a strange mix of pain and pleasure, that made Aramis feel separated from his body. He felt almost elevated. He could feel the length of Athos’ manhood that was being forced into his body. He could feel his own desire coil like a cobra in his loins. 

But it was not enough, because in his head he could still hear her words ‘God go with you, Aramis’. He groaned out, “Harder!”

Athos complied. Both of them heaved, as the one thrusted and the other took it, both trying to chase away their own demons by the primitive desires of flesh.

Aramis moaned at a particularly brutal thrust, and one of his hands sneaked down to curl around his own cock. It took just a couple of tugs and he spilled his seed onto the bedcovers. Athos leaned and bit him on the shoulder painful and hard enough to make the younger man moan and curse in the same breath. Athos thrusted several times more and came with a sharp intake of breath, but otherwise completely silent. 

The younger man’s ears were ringing. Aramis thought that perhaps it was angels singing, but as he was unworthy of their holy song, he could hear only noise. He felt lax and broken, like a marionette. He sighed contentedly and let himself be manhandled fully into bed. 

Athos took off his boots and breeches and joined him soon under the covers in the same state of undress. The gentleness of his fingers against Aramis’ chin, as he examined the damage, betrayed his regret of what had happened.

“I hope I am not handsome anymore,” whispered Aramis with his eyes closed, because he could’t bear his friend’s pity any more. “Maybe this would ward women off.”

Athos snorted in amusement and his exhale ghosted over Aramis’ lips. The younger musketeer opened his eyes and regarded his friend. There was a ghost of anger still present in Athos’ eyes, but there was also concern, regret and affection. The latter was even more difficult to bear. 

“No chance for that,” said Athos wryly, “You will have to exercise your willpower.”

“I have been proved again and again, that I obviously have none.”

“True. Also you have a dubious taste.”

“Oi, my taste is excellent. Worthy of a king, I would say,” teased Aramis. “It is your choice in women that is rather deadly.”

A shadow passed over Athos’ face, making Aramis immediately regret his awkward jest. He cursed mentally his lousy tongue and pressed his fingers to Athos’s cheek.

“I apologize,” he whispered. “That was beyond appropriate.”

But Athos just shook his head, “She is gone. I don’t want to ever even think of her again.”

His voice betrayed him, though. That wound in his heat left by Milady years go, in spite of being old and healed over, was now bleeding again. The woman was a Lucifer, devious and alluring at the same time. Perhaps by sparing her life, he had saved his soul, but who knew what would happen to the world where she was left to roam freely.

Aramis’ fingers caressed his jaw. They had been there before. Some nights were too long and too cold to spend them alone, and more than once Aramis had found himself keeping his door open to his friend. But this time it was different because neither boredom nor lust had brought them together, but pain and despair.

“The nun that died,” said Aramis, looking into Athos’ eyes, wishing to share something he had no time to mention before. “Her name was Isabelle. I knew her, or I thought I knew her, before she had become a nun. She was my lover. I got her pregnant, but she lost the baby. The marriage was called off. All these years I spent thinking that her father had send her away, while in fact it was her own choice. I didn’t know her as well as I thought I did.”

Silent, Athos looked at him with knowing eyes.

“I grieved her death as I had once grieved her loss. And the Queen was there, so beautiful and so kind, and,” Aramis choked on the words, “she understood me.” He closed his eyes and tried to will back the traitorous moisture that was gathering in under his eyelids. 

The warm lips pressed to the corner of his eye, capturing an escaping tear. A bristly cheek scratched his own, as Athos gathered him closer in a warm hug. 

“We all have our faults, my friend,” Athos’ voice rumbled in his chest, as Aramis accepted the gesture and clung to the man with shameless abandon. “Don’t let this bring you down. As for the future, only God knows what is in store for us. But whatever comes, may it be glory or Bastille, we will face it all together.”

“I am voting for glory,” mumbled Aramis, drifting to sleep.

“So do I, my friend, so do I,” chucked Athos.

//

Mar 31, 2014

**Author's Note:**

> This sort of happened. Couldn't help writing this piece because I thought that Athos was quite angry with Aramis over the Queen's announcement and he could be pretty violent judging by the books.
> 
> This might get a sequel. Still not very sure.


End file.
